It partook ... of eternity ... there is a coherence in things, a stability; something, she meant, is immune from change, and shines out (she glanced at the window with its ripple of reflected lights) in the face of the flowing, the fleeting, the spectral, like a ruby; so that again tonight she had the feeling she had had once today, already, of peace, of rest. Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that endures.

Her life-that was the only chance she had-the short season between two silences.

Only longing can fill with more of itself.

How can I express the darkness?

I like the unreality of your mind; the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.

it is strange how the dead leap out on us at street corners, or in dreams

Thinking is my fighting.